


Voltron: Legendary Contenders

by Flare8778



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flare8778/pseuds/Flare8778
Summary: Allura is sure of one thing more than any other. Since she was a girl, she has been destined for greatness in the OWL.Overwatch has always been her passion, but when her parents died she had to move out of the country to live with her crazy Uncle Coran. Living in America away from her old teammates isn't what she would have wanted, but at least the college her uncle works for has a robust Esports program. The special emphasis in Overwatch is an additional plus.Many of the students at Leo Castle University have been teaming together for years. How will Allura find a team that will go the distance and help her follow her dreams of being an OWL champion?A self indulgent fic for an Overwatch Esports fan that answers the question: What position would each member of the Voltron squad play on a 6 roster Overwatch Team?





	1. Allura

“Can I watch it on the telly? Please, Father?”

Alfor let out a chuckle, very sure that his daughter had to have one of the strangest obsessions out of her kindergarten group. He indulgently powered on their big screen, watching his daughter’s cornflower blue eyes sparkle in anticipation and barely contained delight.

“Alright, but you mustn’t stay up too late watching, Princess.”

She met his eyes and nodded her agreement fiercely, turning her head back to the screen as soon as the first inklings of sound escaped the speakers. With a heady flash, the telly picked up right where she had left it before they had gone to her parent and teacher conference. The theme started up, a grand fanfare of an introduction to her favorite sport competition.

Overwatch.

A strong smile lit the girl’s face, turned shades of orange, blue, and white in the illumination emanating from the telly. Alfor chuckled again and turned to hide his worried frown. Her teacher had said she was obviously highly intelligent, and that he knew, but that she was often teased for pretending to be Reinhardt in the playground at recess. He wondered if maybe the obsession had gone too far. What of ambition? What would her life be if this continued?

“Father?” She asked as if in response to his thoughts. He turned back, his smile back in place. “Do you believe I can be on the telly playing Overwatch someday?”

Alfor paused at that, unsure of what to say. Was this some phase he should be discouraging? The path to becoming a professional player of any game was insanely competitive. And most importantly, what of her aforementioned incredible intelligence? She'd make short work of any college or university and flourish in any field she chose. Perhaps he should encourage her to go into science or medicine.

“Playing Overwatch at that level would be very hard, Princess. You'd have to practice everyday.”

The little girl mulled that over with pensive eyes. Her response came quickly once she'd resolved the issue in her mind. “Overwatch is hard but I'm not scared.”

The smile on Alfor’s face faltered slightly as he took in the set of her eyes; his dimples flattened. What was that look? What right did she, a girl of only 8 years, have to such an ardent display of determination? And then he recognized it. The same look his wife had every time she she'd holed up in her office working on a design.

“Just one more archway, Your Majesty,” She would joke, clearly enamoured with her work and indulgent of his interruption. “I need to figure the suspension of the bridge here. I want this to be perfect.”

“I bet it's already perfect. You worked on it, after all.” He would whisper as he kissed her hair. And then she would tell him to bugger off. It's a shame she was on a business trip to China right now. She was likely in bed now and he could use her insight on the situation.

But his daughter drew his attention once more when she finally continued, when she gave him some explanation for that fearsome glint in her eye.

“You taught me that I can do whatever I want no matter what anyone says and I believe you.”

So this was one of those moments. The moments where he'd already taught a lesson that he needed to learn once more. There was no point in encouraging his princess to pursue any path but the one she had chosen. And if that changed in 10 years, if she no longer loved this game, he could tackle that too.

Alfor took his daughter in his arms, more to hide the liquid pride that swelled in his chest and overflowed from his eyes. Just a few words and he instantly knew. He needn’t have worried. This was no obsession. This was a dream.

“I can't wait to see you play Overwatch on the telly, Princess.”

\----------------------------

That same 10 years later, Allura was smiling slightly and shaking the bittersweet memory from her head. She perused the room slowly, lazily fingering the frame in her hands then clicked her tongue, unimpressed. The bedsit was a solo living place at least. The kitchen small and sharing a space with her bedroom and living room. The loo was down the hall and shared among all the women on the floor. It certainly wasn't as decadent as her former home back in England and it didn’t feel as cozy and warm as her Uncle’s home, but for her purposes, it would do.

She wondered if she would be homesick like she had been just 3 short years ago when she moved to her Uncle’s house in California. Her parents had passed away... No, don't think about that Allura, and her only living relative was her Uncle Coran who worked as an Esports Administrator at a well known gaming school named Leo Castle University or LCU for short. He had been working the last few years in the League of Legends department and led several teams to the playoffs at the collegiate level. A few of his students had even managed to go pro.

She'd made the school her goal when she'd found out that it had one of the best Overwatch programs in Southern California. Although she had spent most of her life practicing to enter the EU scene, she grudgingly decided to stay here with her Uncle for Uni. The American scene was actually more competitive and it's not like she had friends or anywhere to really go in Liverpool anyway.

LCU’s Overwatch program was masterful. There were 24 Esports Administrators who were each allowed to build 1 OW team including up to 2 alternates to train for a school wide tournament executed throughout the first 12 weeks. After that, the grand place winners of the school tournament earned the right to represent the school at a nationwide tournament hosted by Tezpah, a well known organization known for providing young players with the exposure they need to go pro. Scouts for OWL watched each of these matches and scanned them for break out performances by single players and in rarer cases even whole teams.

And the prospect of that, of gaining the momentum to go pro was exactly why she was here in this arguably terrible bedsit. Uncle had offered to let her continue to stay with him, but his internet creaked like old floorboards and once she had a team, she'd need to be in the dorms to practice with them regularly. She anticipated many late night scrims on LAN that would leave her fingers cramped and her back aching. Those kind of sessions would be facilitated if she didn't have to take the bus back to her Uncle’s afterward.

The moving service she’d hired dropped off the last of her boxes, leaving her alone with her disappointment. The faint click of the door closing behind their wordless departure sounded a bit lonely, but she stuffed the feeling somewhere deep in her heart. Leave it to Americans to be so crude as to not even separate the distinct areas of their college bedrooms with walls. She sighed, knowing that such a comment was made more out of apprehension than anything else. If her pulse was quick or her breath was shorter than usual, it was likely due to the fact that she'd never been on her own like this before. It was exhilarating and solitary. And a bit bittersweet considering all she had been through in the past years.

Without the second thought that would likely bring her to tears, she set about the most important task. Organizing. It was more important than lunch, though her stomach protested.

After a quick survey of the room, she knew exactly where things would go. She had a mind for these things. The bed would go on the east wall, the kitchen and entrance lie to the south, complete with its mini bar and two stools. Her telly and the stand for it, which would hold her gaming console, would live opposite the bed on the west wall. But all of those things were secondary, harshly pushed to their areas to clear the way for what truly mattered.

The internet was on the north wall. The router and the modem were provided by the school, so they were already there. Waiting. Poised on a small shelf and blinking. Ready. But wait.

She pulled away newspaper from the frame in her hands to reveal a picture of her mother who had her arms wrapped lovingly around her father. Allura was there too being squeezed by her father in turn. A juice chain, as they called it. They used to say that they had squeezed all of the goodness from each other in order to make her, and that if you loved something that was good the best way to make it better was to squeeze it more and never let go. She realized now that it was a silly concept and that the analogy had many holes.

And yet...

Wasn't that steadfast desire to never let go exactly what made her pursue Overwatch with such whole-hearted single mindedness?

She spared one wistful smile at the frame before tanking a thumb tack and pinning it to the wall at what would be her bedside.

With that done, Allura really set to work.

She pulled a large box over and opened it, spotting cold, glinting metal as well as dark wood. She pulled out the pamphlet of instructions and scanned them analytically, decided they were at least partially incorrect and cast them aside. She tipped the box to its side, gaining better access to its contents.

There were 4 metal rods labeled 3T, 15Q, 4B, and... was that an ‘O’ or a zero? Maybe both. Maybe it was an ‘O’ followed by a zero or-

It could be sideways she supposed. Perhaps it was an ‘8.’

She groaned. What God did she need to call forth to smite Ikea? The prices may have been ‘hammered down’ by Thor but damn it all if the instructions weren't all written by the scions of Loki.

She gave it another go with the 6 wooden slats that would form the sides and the platforms for her keyboard and computer. Fifteen long minutes later she’d managed to hammer a few things together, though it looked off.

How long was it that passed before she was ready to tear her hair out in frustration? She was determined to continue, determined to finish. She had just decided to give the instructions another once over when there was a knock at her door.

“I'm coming,” she called out of habit, a leftover from living with any uncle who was eccentric enough to constantly forget his own keys to the house. She remembered she was in a whole new place with new rules as she reached the door. Well, she wouldn't know who it was unless she opened it, right? Just a crack, she opened the door and hesitantly peered out.

“Uh, hi.”

Before Allura was a young looking man with large, round glasses covering bright, honey eyes. He had short, brown hair that matched the shade almost perfectly. He was wearing a green jacket with a white and orange striped shirt. The look was complete with some jeans and a beat up pair of trainers. Allura realized she was staring rudely when he continued, clearly uncomfortable.

“Sorry to bother you. I'm here to make sure your internet hardware is working since you haven't connected yet. It seemed alright but... I'm the R.A. for the freshman floor. Name’s Pidge.”

“Isn't this the girl’s floor?” Allura asked, brain still trying to process what was happening.

“Sure is. Do you mind if I come in and take a look at things?”

“Of course...” Allura stepped aside and let Pidge in.

Pidge went straight over to the wall and took a look at the scattered mess, complete with instructions crumpled at the top of the pile. “Hey so... Ok, what is this?”

“It's my desk. Partially assembled. I was having a bit of a row with it.”

Pidge blinked then crouched beside all the pieces. “What’s with all the shrapnel? Some of this wood has splintered.”

“The instructions said to drill into it. I'm afraid I'm not entirely comfortable with power tools so I figured a hammer would do.”

“You hammered in screws?” Pidge looked aghast.

“I know it's not technically correct, but passable?”

He shook his head. “You want to put your computer on a deathtrap? Look, I'm not really the building type. I'm more a technology person, and honestly? I'm a defender of sorts. I wouldn’t even let you put a 3DS on that thing... That is, if you even manage to get it standing. But, you're in luck. I know a guy. Would you be alright with me bringing him in to help you build this? And by help, I mostly mean take over entirely.”

Allura sighed heavily. She knew when she was outclassed, even if it was by just a desk with vague instructions. “I'd love to meet the bloke.”


	2. Lance

Lance McClain was more than just frustrated. He was about ready to punch someone in the face. Someone who had a signature mullet and stupid deadly aim. And was stupid.

Keith Kogane, or LoneWolfOW as he was known by on Twitch, had assembled a crack Team of streamers and was triple stacking his way through Top 500. And Lance? Lance had been queuing into it solo for the last 3 hours. Needless to say, he was tilted. And he’d shutdown his stream amidst equal parts love from his subscribers (Don't mind! Don't mind! You'll get him next time) and hate from random people who were likely members of Keith’s fan club, unironically nicknamed the Wolf Pack.

He'd seen the latter’s comments much more clearly in the chat. Very vocal reminders of how he was a glory hog, a filthy Widow main with somehow worse aim than Kogane. But their comments paled in comparison to what had happened in his last comp game.

That last loss just particularly stung. The Ruins of Ilios was his map. Due to the comfortable sniping nests on both sides and relatively open area outside of that death pit in the middle where they put the point, Widow had always been viable on that map. And he'd been playing Widowmaker since the open beta. But it didn't matter to that bastard. Not only had he counterpicked Widow, he'd also managed to kill him 11 times while Lance had only landed 2 successful headshots by comparison. Both of those shots had been landed at the beginning of the match, and as his deaths to Keith increased his performance as a whole had suffered. He’d been forced to counterpick Soldier: 76 himself to even keep his team in the game.

But it ultimately wasn’t enough. They lost Ilios to his triple stack. Lance had lost his 8th match in a row. He rage quit the stream not willing to lose his place in Grandmasters.

Simple really. And through that whole series of events, the biggest thing that bothered him?

Keith Kogane never used match chat. Sometimes, he joined voice if he was on your team... but not always. He didn't even talk to his chat most of the time. People loved the enigma, were enamored with his gameplay, were drawn in by the weight of his solo queue carry. And the shit had decided that this time, with the scores 99 to 99 in overtime on the third map of Ilios. Ruins too, his map. This time, the bastard opens up his match chat and writes ‘gg, Lance.’

Lance wanted to scream. And he was back to the punching thing too. He wanted to scream and punch. Like some Dragonball Z inspired banshee specially designed to lure just Keith into an incredibly punchful death.

Ok, maybe death was extreme. But at least into a comp losing streak comparable to his.

Lance pushed back from his desk and stomped over to the kitchen. He pulled open a drawer, snatched out a spoon, and yanked open his freezer with more force than was probably necessary.

This wasn't the first time he'd been slighted. The thing about queuing on stream everyday at the same time for the last 3 years was you got an idea of all the people who were in your games. And you formed some sort of bond with the consistent streamers at your level. Some of them, you bonded with. Others, you see go online and think ‘I hate that guy.’

Keith occupied the latter space for Lance. There was just something about how edgy he was, asshole-ish and silent, stuck up and arrogant. Something in the way he ignored his fans and still ended up ‘better’ than Lance. He had more views, if less subscribers, and his talent was legendary.

Meanwhile, Lance was fighting to keep his following happy and barely keeping up with him. Not to mention there was ‘The Incident.’

Honestly, it was probably too trivial to call that, but it didn't matter to Lance. He hated what had happened far too much to give it a better name. Thinking about it made his blood boil and his arm almost involuntarily shovel ice cream into his mouth.

Several indulgent bites of chunky monkey later, he was re-evaluating his mood. It wasn't good for his body to remain this toxic, and there was one good solution to toxicity. At least for Lance. A beautiful woman.

\----------------------------

20 minutes later, Lance found himself in front of his best friend’s door. Turns out, he didn't actually... know any beautiful woman. Hunk was close enough.

Not to a beautiful woman but... close to... ummm. Forget it.

He knocked loudly, then walked in.

“Dude, why do you even knock if you're just going to burst in?”

“Love.” Lance responded adoringly before grabbing a Diet Coke from the fridge and plopping down on the couch next to Hunk’s computer rig. He had no TV so his Guest area was built around his computer monitor.

“You know, one day I'm going to believe you and I'll be upset you aren't serious.”

Lance took a moment to admire his friend. Dark hair that reached the nape of his neck, bangs that framed his face and were parted down the middle over his sweat band, deep brown eyes that held sweetness. He bypassed his laugh lines, admired his build. Samoan with naturally tanned skin, not too different from his own, but bigger. He had learned at a party in high school where Hunk single handedly moved two kegs up a hill to hide it from the police. He hadn't touched a drop at the party, had been dragged there by Lance, and only hid the alcohol to protect his friends from getting in too much trouble, but Lance could still remember the near effortless way he'd huffed it up the hill. Some would look at Hunk and only see the soft layers of fat on his body, but Lance knew there was nothing but solid muscle underneath. That whole incident was the whole reason Lance had helped him pick his gamertag, IncredibleHunk.

Lance smirked and took a drag from his soda. Hunk had a tendency to look down on himself, but Lance knew the truth. And it wasn't a stretch to say he loved his best friend. “I'm always serious.”

Hunk just laughed at him. “Sure you are, Buddy. I saw you queuing into the Keith 3 stack.”

Lance groaned. “Next topic.”

“Dude, why do you offer your SR to him, like it's a sacrifice to the Kaplan God himself.”

“I do it for the Widow buff.”

Hunk laughed gently and Lance rolled his eyes, but got distracted by a number on the screen.

“Wait, Hunk? What's your main doing in Masters?”

Hunk looked over at his screen and instantly minimized it. He blushed, “I've been... uh.”

“Throwing?!”

“Never! Just uhh...”

Before Lance could probe through all the stuttering, there was a knock at the door. One much more polite than any knock Lance had done. Hunk appeared visibly relieved so Lance whispered hurriedly at him. This conversation wasn't over.

Hunk shifted uncomfortably out of the range of Lance’s glare and ran to his salvation at the door.

“You look harried. Am I interrupting something? Wait, is Shay here?”

Lance popped up behind Hunk's shoulder so he could see the intruder, though he recognized her boyish voice easily. Hunk’s whole body was giving off the faint heat of embarrassment.

“Pidge!” Lance exclaimed.

“Oh, it's just Lance.” Pidge responded, not entirely without warmth.

“Don't be like that, Pidge. I thought the three of us were like family.”

“And I thought this was Hunk’s room and that I came here to speak to him.”

Lance sighed. No one appreciated him. He settled onto the couch again, feigning a deep hurt, complete with passive aggressive puffs of air and little mutters. But as lost as he looked in his phone, he was listening as Pidge began to explain the reason she'd dropped by.

“Oh, that poor desk. Sure I can come help. Lance! I'm going to help Pidge with-" He trailed off, looking at Pidge who was miming something at him. Something like “No, don't tell Lance. He'll bother Allura.” Lance looked up and though he hadn't seen it in its entirety, the message was clear. Pidge didn't want him to go. That meant this Allura chick was beautiful.

“Don't worry, Pidge,” Lance assured her with a grin. “I'm already going with.”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “There’s literally no reason for you to.”

But her complaint fell on deaf ears. Lance would be included and that was that.


End file.
